


A Midsummer Night's Deception

by xx_bittersweet_merlin



Series: founders era [5]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Background Relationships, Birds of Prey - freeform, Fake Marriage, Gen, Humor, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:33:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xx_bittersweet_merlin/pseuds/xx_bittersweet_merlin
Summary: Madara is sent to Suna to deliver a treaty offer to the budding village. The Kazekage, he finds, is an agreeable person- someone he could call friend, in good circumstances. Reto, similarly, thinks he's a good man and doesn't deserve the distrust of his village. He comes up with the most harebrained idea that might actually work: pulling a prank on the whole of Konoha and claiming they're to be married.Even if it doesn't work, though, he thinks it's going to be hilarious, and that's worth the trouble."He proposed, so I said yes,” Madara said with a wave of his hand, gazing out of the window as if it all made sense and he didn’t notice their incredulity. “In two weeks I’ll be moving to Suna permanently.”Hashirama’s mouth moved a few times. It reminded Madara of the time he’d found Ryota trying desperately to stab a fish he’d caught and brought onto the rocks by a river, missing every time it floundered about with bulging eyes and a wiggling mouth. “Moving to…Suna?”





	A Midsummer Night's Deception

The Sunagakure shinobi were afraid of him.

He could see it in their faces. They looked at him like some of the Konoha shinobi did- in perhaps a more distant, wary way. Plenty of shinobi in the Land of Fire had seen him personally on the battlefield; these people had only heard of him.

They watched him, being careful to keep his hands in view, never looking him in the eye; at least, for once, he didn’t feel insulted by it, because these people had no reason to trust him and every reason not to. He could say less for Konoha citizens. It was more palatable, even, because the Suna shinobi were wary yet polite, and not polite because they were afraid.

“I apologize that the Kazekage isn’t available to meet with you immediately,” the woman who’d been showing him around told him.

Her voice was low and gravelly in a way that resembled how the sand crunched and slid underfoot. Madara had never been to the desert. It was annoying, he supposed, how easily the stuff got into his clothes and shoes, and he suspected it was the reason so many of them wore long, flowing items like robes instead of restricting pieces like trousers that would cause uncomfortable friction. He was already wishing he’d brought a full-length mantle instead of one short enough he had to wear pants underneath.

“It’s of no matter,” he dismissed, gazing at the hall ahead of them uncaringly. It was bland- dim- uninteresting in an interesting way. Even the Hokage tower, as simple and undecorated as it was, hosted a few splashes of color in the curtains or portraits on the wall or the sofas. “It’s late anyway.”

He wasn’t being completely truthful. He found it irritating how the Kazekage apparently meant to make him wait an entire half day after he’d spent four days getting there- especially considering the reason he was there- but he just knew that if he made a wrong step of any sort he wouldn’t hear the end of it. People already expected him to make a mess of things.

Even Hashirama probably did. He had hesitated, just for a moment, when he’d handed Madara this mission assignment, and that had hurt possibly more than the disapproval of the entire village could have.

_He would trust his brother completely with this, but not me._

Chiasa stopped in front of a doorway. There were only thick curtains over it, instead of a door, and he swallowed his distaste for having no way to lock the entry.

“Here’s your room. I would ask that you do not enter the levels below this one, but you’re free to roam this one and the ones above it,” she told him. “I trust it’s satisfactory?”

Madara eyed her wearily. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

She gave him a short nod and disappeared back down the hallway. The village itself had been less than impressing- the buildings were more primitive and more scarce, and they’d seemed to pour more energy into erecting the wall around the settlement as quickly as they could. It made it look like a fortress from far away in the desert sands.

Inside, however, it was clear it was only a small village still. The buildings were spread out to encompass the whole of the area they’d provided themselves with, and tents and awnings were strung up in between. He couldn’t deny, however, that despite its current shortcomings- not everyone had the benefit of the Mokuton that could create homes in minutes- it did have personality. Everywhere he’d been taken on their way to the Kazekage tower, he’d been able to smell incense wafting through the air; fires burned and cooked with strange smells of foods he’d never tried and civilians moved around in clothing that was unfamiliar to him.

He stepped into the room and couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. There were no windows, to help keep the building cool, on this level, and it felt entrapping. He’d never been particularly claustrophobic, but he didn’t like feeling closed in.

There was a bed and a desk along one wall and a rug in the center of the floor that looked worn and aged. It was- even more than the rest of the tower- incredibly dull, and if he tried to sit there for hours until the sun rose he was going to bore himself to death.

He dropped the bag he’d brought onto the bed and left it there. He didn’t need it, considering he kept everything important in a scroll on his person, but he was interested to see if anyone went through it while he was gone.

The halls were empty. He had expected there to be, at the very least, a few guards milling around, but they were strangely absent. He wondered if it was a show of trust- that they trusted him not to cause an incident- or a sign of disrespect- that they didn’t take him seriously. Or a sign of incompetency- that they didn’t think of it at all. He wondered if he should have felt insulted.

He took his time making his way up to the top level. It was dark out when he emerged onto the roof, as well as cold. He’d been warned about the desert nights but hadn’t thought to put on any extra layers.

A rustling sound caught his attention in the quiet of the night. It brought a small smirk to his face, even as he rubbed his arms for warmth, and he made his way over to the edge of the roof, looking for what had caught his attention when he first arrived. There had been many desert hawks circling unseen prey in the distance, some of them swooping down towards falconers on the walls.

The roof of the tower was connected to others by a walkway; it hosted a shorter wall along its edges for safety reasons, and he lifted himself onto it and let his legs dangle over the side as he glanced up at the sky. Dark shapes circled him overhead, barely silhouetted against the sky by traces of firelight from below, and he sat there, waiting for one to come down.

He heard wings flapping as several shapes descended. Some of them dipped below the wall, skulking about, a few of them emerging on the wall a few yards from him on either side and watching him with dark eyes.

He smiled and held out his arm. One in particular had landed closer than the rest, watching him from behind one of her wings. She tilted her head at him when he did, as if he was being strange.

“Come on, then,” he urged, amused, getting the feeling she was metaphorically poking her tongue out at him. She opened her beak barely enough to let out a quiet squawk and shuffled across the wall towards him.

She climbed into his lap and perched on his thigh, tilting her head and blinking at him a few times. “Aren’t you a pretty one?” he crooned, smoothing his hand over the feathers of her back. “Do you rule the roost around here?”

The bird straightened a bit and closed its eyes, carrying a sense of smugness. He grinned and withheld a chuckle.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any gifts. My rations weren’t very suitable anyway.”

A gravelly rumble emanated from her throat. She leaned down and nuzzled his arm, poking the fabric of his mantle a few times as if to complain about it. It reminded him of Watatsumi, making his smile soften, and he wished he’d brought her along, feeling as though he missed her suddenly.

“Teruko doesn’t usually take very well to any guests,” a voice said from the other side of the roof, making him go tense. “I’m surprised she likes you.”

The bird leaned away from him and turned. He followed her gaze and spotted a man coming onto the tower from one of the walkways, wearing long tan robes and a pleasant but restrained smile. His hair was short, his face serious, and otherwise quite forgettable, if not for his irises, which were completely grey with hardly any variation whatsoever.

Teruko leapt off his leg and flapped her way over to the other man, landing on his shoulder and rearranging herself until she could stay on with no trouble.

Madara turned and swung his legs back over the wall. He grimaced, inwardly, hoping he hadn’t done anything offensive- he knew how protective someone could be over their partners. “She’s a beautiful bird.”

The man’s smile widened just a fraction. “I’m sure she appreciates that, though her ego doesn’t need stoking.” The bird glanced down at him and huffed, starting to stare off into the desert and refusing to look at him again. “She’s a peregrine. Do you have any in the forests of your home?”

Madara tensed again before realizing that- of course- it was fairly obvious who the visitor in Sunagakure was at the moment. He also knew it was common knowledge what birds frequented the Land of Fire, but he supposed the man was just trying to make conversation. “I have one myself. Her name is Watatsumi. I’m thinking I should have brought her, now- we could have had a race.”

He was smiling as he said it- as most mentions of Watatsumi tended to do- and he froze, for a split second, hoping the man wouldn’t take offense, but all he did was smile again. “I would have liked to see that. Teruko has never lost one. You’re a falconer, then?”

He veered closer as he spoke; for some reason it didn’t make Madara feel uneasy. The question reminded him of the one thing that he could at least be most proud of- the one thing he had never failed at- and he couldn’t help but preen, just a little bit, with a small smile. “I have twenty-seven. And a few other birds- well- eleven others. And some pigeons.”

The man paused, eyebrows shooting into the air. He looked at him again as if trying to take a second first glance but said nothing, as if it only really made him make more sense.

“Impressive,” he replied after a moment. “I know the Leaf uses messenger pigeons, but I hadn’t heard of any major falconry.”

Madara couldn’t help but snort. “My birds serve me; they don’t run errands for offices,” he said, realizing a moment after he said it that it probably sounded derogatory towards the tasks Suna used theirs for. Fortunately, the man didn’t seem offended.

“Have you seen the desert vultures yet?”

Madara turned to look at the horizon, unintentionally sounding a bit grumpy. “Unfortunately not. I was focused on arriving quickly. I’ve heard they grow larger here than in the Land of Fire?”

“Much larger,” the man replied, leaning against the wall and folding his arms with a small smirk. “It’s intimidating to the best man to see a wake feasting upon fresh corpses. The first time I spotted one, its shadow in the sky completely eclipsed me. The average wingspan near here is eleven feet, though it’s by no means the maximum.”

Madara let out a slow breath. He hoped he had time during his visit to take a tour in the desert and see one for himself. He would have to get a larger book to keep his feather collection in, he thought, if he managed to get one.

“I’ve heard there are white-brow bushchats here,” he continued, forgetting context for a moment. The man didn’t seem afraid of him, or adverse to answering his questions. “Have you seen them?”

“Their population had been declining, but there’s been a small bump since the village was founded. They like to hang around some of our gardens where larger animals don’t stray. There’s many sites to be seen if the desert birds are what you’re interested in.”

His interest was already piqued, but he felt yet another stab of it, and couldn’t help but consider again how he could manage to traipse about the sands without looking rude. The man looked at his distant expression and chuckled.

“Why don’t I show you some of those places in the morning?” he suggested. “A small gesture between villages.”

Madara paused. He would have said yes in an instant, if he wasn’t there for a reason. “I’m afraid I won’t have much time. I’m here to deliver a treaty to the Kazekage.”

The man stared at him for a moment, looking mildly amused, before he raised an eyebrow and quirked a smile. “It seems I should introduce myself, then.” He held out his hand, and Madara took it, presuming he meant to shake it, and he shifted awkwardly when the man folded his other over his own in a way that felt too much like a friend’s shake.

“Uchiha Madara,” he offered, though he was sure that was already known.

The man’s smile widened. “Reto, the Shodai Kazekage. Would you prefer an early outing or a bit of time to sleep in?”

* * *

 

There was sand trapped between his toes again, but there was, thankfully, little other uncomfortable friction. He had found a set of clothes delivered to his doorstep when he’d been woken by a falcon’s cry, a long, draping pair of pale tan trousers that didn’t quite breech his ankles and a loose tunic to go over it.

“You’re going to want a wrap,” Chiasa had told him when he’d arrived outside the wall, looking much more amused than she had at any point the day before. “A gift from Kazekage-sama.”

Madara felt uncomfortable receiving a gift- particularly when he had nothing to give in return to make a good impression- but let her take a long, wide piece of pale blue cloth to his hair anyway. She fiddled with it until it had bound his hair tightly, feeling as though it hardly had any crevices sand could get into, and formed a hood over his forehead, with two small tassels made of feathers hanging on either side of his face. It was a pretty thing, he thought, but he didn’t know why the Kazekage had given it to him.

The shinobi that formed the attachment going with them into the desert looked even more polite than the day before. He even caught one giving him a friendly smile, though it wasn’t overly amicable.

Reto was standing on a small wooden platform with Teruko on his arm, fastening a piece of paper to her leg, and sent her off just as he arrived. He turned to him with another polite smile, eyes lingering, just for a moment, on the feathers by his left ear. “Good morning. Was your rest uninterrupted?”

That was a rather odd way of asking if he’d slept well. “It was fine. Although I’m fairly certain Teruko left a rat on my rug.”

Reto grimaced. “She does that sometimes,” he said, sounding vaguely apologetic.

Madara smiled thinly. “It doesn’t bother me. Watatsumi regularly leaves me gophers and lizards in my kitchen.”

“Sounds inconvenient.”

“On the contrary; they do taste good with some seasoning.”

Reto cocked an eyebrow at him. He didn’t look startled, just a bit considering. He nodded his head towards the desert. “Shall we start? The hours may feel as though they’re passing slowly in the desert, but trust me, they go by faster than you would assume.”

* * *

 

The vultures flew overhead through the morning. Madara spotted countless birds- falcons, hawks, quail, even a small roadrunner that followed them for about a half a mile. It was oddly…relaxing, despite the fact he knew it rationally shouldn’t be; he was a foreigner surrounded by unfamiliar shinobi, and they’d yet to even _discuss_ the treaty.

There was something, however, pointedly relaxing about climbing the hills while Reto showed him the best spots for watching the wildlife. The first vulture he saw up close had a wingspan of fifteen feet, towering over him on the ground, as he stared up at her with a vivid intensity in his eyes and a sense of breathlessness. Nothing could compare to that feeling, he thought- it made everything else in his life wash away, all of the pain and memories, and let him focus on one thing in the present that made him feel content.

He caught Reto looking at him, very intently, as he’d been staring at a red-tailed hawk, and a moment he almost forgot passed as the Kazekage looked at his eyes- not into them, but at them, his own expression distant and contemplating.

He said little else as they walked, and Madara thought, even if perhaps they did end up fighting on the battlefield at some point, he was at least worthy of some of his respect.

“We should probably talk about the treaty,” he said later, a little scatterbrained, having forgotten about it for several hours.

Reto leaned to the side and grabbed a pitcher of- whatever it was, something that tasted like lime and berries and had a pitifully small amount of alcohol in it- to refill his drink. He’d downed three of them; Madara was still on his first one. “There’s time. You are staying for a week, are you not?”

Madara thought for a moment, puzzled, realized that Hashirama hadn’t given him a time frame- probably expected it to be a quick delivery, possibly that he would get rebuffed at the border- and nodded.

“Then tonight we relax, and indulge in amicable conversation. This light is horrible for reading anyway.”

* * *

 

Reto asked him, at some point, if he’d been considered for Hokage.

Madara hesitated.

“Yes,” he said, eyes trailing the ground, thinking of how he’d seen just nine Uchiha ballots cast in his favor. “By Hashirama.”

Reto raised an eyebrow at him.

Something in him loosened, his mouth moved, and he found himself muttering things he usually tried to put out of his mind. “Most prefer him.”

“You seem very agreeable.”

Madara shrugged and glanced at his glass of water. It, for some reason, seemed to sparkle occasionally in the light, the faintest hint of gold he could have sworn was his eyes playing tricks on him.

“Some don’t trust me. Not all of them. Just enough that it…” _Just enough that it stings._ “Made a difference.”

Reto didn’t say anything, staring at him from behind his desk in his office- Madara wished he could sit with Hashirama in his office like this, drinking with a friend, while the guards didn’t have any sort of personal opinion about him. Madara felt a burning sense of something sad, like a small thorn in his side he usually didn’t notice, and indulged himself, just once, when he was away from the eyes of the village and he could be downtrodden.

* * *

 

“Take it easy,” Madara soothed, voice low and soft as he stroked Teruko’s side. She glared back at him, shuffling and twitching every few moments, oddly quiet as he pulled a few thorns she had somehow acquired from her wing.

Reto watched him from the other side of the roof, having warned him not to attempt it, knowing his bird was temperamental even towards himself when it came to injuries, and stared at the shadow beneath the Uchiha’s feet that seemed to stretch farther than the man existed.

* * *

 

“They should trust you,” Reto said over lunch, absentmindedly marking something else down on the list of demands he’d been making. The treaty itself was signed, it had been on the first day after their outing, and he’d been considering his offered negotiations in the days since.

Madara grimaced. “It’s how it is,” he grunted, hoping his short tone would make the other man drop the topic. Predictably, it didn’t.

“I had an idea,” he offered, in a very dimly lighter tone than his usual voice. It made Madara look up and squint at him. “A shinobi’s allies should trust and have a good opinion of him, wouldn’t you say? It’s hardly advantageous for your allies to not do so.”

Madara’s grimace deepened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but the Kazekage went on.

“I find there’s a very good way to change someone’s opinion of something. It works every time.” Now the man was definitely needling him, because his tone had delved into something irritatingly subtly humorous despite his grave expression, and Madara twitched. “If someone thinks they’re going to lose something completely, they may reconsider their behavior.”

Confused, Madara paused, frowning at him. “What are you getting at?”

Reto smiled. It was a thin smile, as if he was plotting something. “I’m sure Konohagakure would better their opinion of you if the citizens think you’re going to leave the village.”

“Leave the village? Yes, I’m sure they’ll love me even more as a traitor.’

“You can’t call someone a traitor,” Reto told him grandly, “if they are lured away by the seduction of love.”

A pin could drop in the office and he would have heard it. Madara stared at him, incredulous, and set his glass down with a thump. “Excuse me.”

The Kazekage began reaching for something in a drawer. “You want your village to like you, do you not?” he asked, and Madara said nothing because his only two options were lying through his teeth and humiliating himself. “Go back, and bring news of your marriage. To the Kazekage of Suna.”

“You can’t be serious,” Madara said, just as incredulous as a minute ago, as the man set a small black box on the desk.

“I’m quite serious,” Reto told him with a serene smile. “You’ve shown yourself to be an honorable man, Madara, and I’d consider you a friend as much as national ties allow. It doesn’t seem right your village is not as appreciative of you as mine is of me.”

“And you want to change that…by pretending to be my fiancé,” Madara noted dully, giving the box a flat look.

“Think of it this way.” Reto leaned against his folded hands to hide a smirk and arched an eyebrow at him. “Would you not panic if a dear family member suddenly returned home with a marriage offer from a stranger, saying they want a better life and don’t feel fulfilled at home, and would you not want to make things better for them so they don’t make a hasty decision?”

Madara sat there frozen, staring at the box, unintentionally imagining the time Izuna had come home tipsy at sixteen insisting he’d found the love of his life in a dive bar. It was nonsensical. It was ridiculous. It made sense. “Well…”

“Consider this, Madara.” Reto pushed the box towards him, and he hesitantly took it, looking at the diamond ring inside with a frown. “It will be very, very amusing.”

Madara’s body went still again. He looked up at him- and the amused expression on his face- and felt something a little more lighthearted in him being egged on, something he felt he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of in months.

He had been unhappy. Lonely. Maybe some grand practical joke would bring just a bit of color to his life, even if only for a few weeks.

Hell, Reto probably wanted a break from the drabness of village life too.

He picked the ring up out of the box and stared at it.

“Well,” he murmured, hesitantly sliding it on, “I suppose. What could go wrong?”


End file.
